Minders

by Michele Jaffe

  Ford’s phone buzzed with a message, loud and startling in the silence, yanking him from his thoughts. Sadie heard him think Cali, and for a split second she glimpsed a crack in the numbness.

  But it wasn’t from Cali, it was from Plum. It said: “COME TO MY PLACE. BOSUN BUILDING, PENTHOUSE A. TELL THE DOORMAN YOUR NAME IS ROMEO. DON’T KEEP ME WAITING.”

  Just what the doctor ordered, Sadie heard Ford think.

  Only if it was Dr. Frankenstein, she said. Or Dr. Bad Idea. After everything that’s happened tonight, do you really think—

  “ON MY WAY,” he texted.

  CHAPTER 18

  I still think this is a very bad idea, Sadie whispered to Ford an hour later as he watched Plum slide down next to him on the brown wool sofa.

  Plum wore a white linen caftan that was see-through when the light hit it directly, as it was doing now. “You were incredibly dull the last time I saw you,” she said, shifting in a way that made it clear she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “What makes you think you won’t bore me this time?”

  “I’ll try my best,” Ford told her, pitching his voice low. During the ride over Ford’s numbness had taken on a hard, sardonic edge, lack of feeling turning to reckless boldness.

  Plum laughed and leaned toward him, giving him a glimpse down the front of her caftan. No need to trouble yourself, Sadie assured her. We could already see just fine. “Say ‘hardest’ and you might have a shot.”

  “My absolute hardest,” Ford pledged.

  They were sitting in her wide-open living room. The furniture was clean and modern, a low sofa, leather shag rug, a massive television. In front of them, a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows showed a terrace that seemed to wrap around the whole apartment, with the city twinkling sixty-three floors below it.

  Plum’s penthouse in the Bosun Building was less than an hour’s bike ride from where Ford lived, but as he’d chained his bike, Sadie had heard him thinking it might as well have been another planet. He was struck by how quiet it was, with no foot traffic, just the low purr of well-maintained car engines and the regular whirring of helicopters landing and taking off from the tops of the sleek towers.

  It was quieter inside the cocoon of her apartment, and she was amused to hear Ford think that even the silence was nicer in this part of town. Plum handed him a glass and a cocktail napkin monogrammed with a double P, and said, “Your text said you couldn’t get me off your mind. What, exactly, were you imagining?” She took a sip.

  Ford’s new recklessness seemed to eliminate nerves. It was like he was a different person, a shallower, more confident—

  “The reality is much better than the fantasy,” he told Plum.

  —more cheesy one.

  Plum laughed. They were both barefoot, and her toes skimmed his as she shifted, somehow making her caftan even less opaque. “You can’t fool me. You came here to ask about your brother.”

  Watching the light dim in Ford’s range of vision, Sadie realized he thought Plum was testing him. If he agreed that he’d come to talk about James, he’d be thrown out. If he denied it, said that he’d come because Plum fascinated him, he’d be allowed to stay. It was a devious but clever way of engineering the outcome Plum wanted, essentially telling Ford how to behave.

  “I could have done that on the phone,” Ford said, skirting the trap. “Or I could have suggested we meet somewhere in public.” He looked at her, and Sadie felt him setting a trap of his own. “I’m sure we could think of more interesting things to talk about than James. God knows he wasn’t that interesting when he was alive.”

  Plum took the bait. “That’s not a very nice thing to say about your brother.”

  “Didn’t you say he bored you? Never wanted to have any fun?”

  “No.” She leaned forward and straightened the cocktail napkin beneath her glass. “We had fun.”

  “I’m having trouble picturing James up here.” That was a lie, Sadie knew. During the ride up to the penthouse in the Bosun Building’s glass-and-chrome elevator, Ford had thought of how perfect it was for James, no wonder he’d stopped coming home. “Did James give the doorman his own name, or did he call himself Romeo too?”

  “He had all different aliases. He’d come to the door and do a different voice for each one: Professor Barmy, Officer Lockup, Mr. Mopeson.” She shook her head. “He was such a ham.”

  A crack appeared in the frozen surface of Ford’s mind at her words. He hadn’t expected anything genuine, Sadie thought, and the realness of it, this glimpse into a whole life James had lived without him, was a shock.

  “He was,” Ford said quietly. “He used to be able to make Lulu and me laugh for hours.”

  “Lulu?” Plum asked.

  “Our sister.” When Plum still looked puzzled Ford added, “Didn’t James tell you about her?”

  Plum shook her head. “He didn’t really talk about his family much. It didn’t come up.”

  A flare of anger shot out, threatening Ford’s entire cool demeanor. He swallowed hard and said, “What did you talk about then?” His chest was tight, his voice was strained, but Plum didn’t seem to notice. Sadie wondered if she had any idea of the pain she was causing.

  “My club. What we were going to do that night. What to have for dinner.”

  “Your patron?” Ford tossed out.

  Plum ignored it. “My movies.”

  Ford frowned. “You make movies? I thought you were going to be a child psychologist.”

  “I can do both,” Plum said, but her tone was a little snappish, as though, Sadie thought, the question bothered her.

  Pieces of ideas floated through Ford’s mind, and he grabbed at them haphazardly. “Did you and James make any movies together?”

  “Of course,” Plum said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “James was a very good”—she paused to lick her lips—“performer.”

  Ford’s thoughts skittered from her suggestion. He shifted to put a little more distance between them, and Sadie sensed him groping for a safe question. “How did you two meet?”

  Plum leaned toward the coffee table and slid open a drawer beneath it. “At a party.” She pulled a tablet computer from the drawer and started flipping through it as she spoke. “The handsome one with the dangerous eyes… Linc?” She glanced up at Ford, who nodded. “He introduced us.”

  Ford’s mind filled with a grainy gray, blue, and black image of Linc’s silence when he’d asked about James’s girlfriend, the dots getting darker and darker until they fizzled into black. “How do you know Linc?” he asked Plum.

  She shrugged and said, “Friend of a friend.” She was distracted, tapping through the screen in front of her like she was looking for something specific. “Can you explain how you know all your friends?”

  Ford’s mind was running through a pointillist slideshow of Willy swearing he didn’t know Plum, which expanded to all his brother’s friends. “Yep.” All liars, Sadie heard him think.

  “You’re not very popular then,” Plum told him, finally looking up. She smiled and held the tablet toward him. “This is some video of James I shot the day before he—you know.”

  “That’s okay,” Ford said, making no move to take it.

  Plum laughed. “It’s not that kind of video, at least not the first four minutes and twenty-two seconds. He’s fully clothed that whole time. I promise it won’t offend your sensibilities.”

  Ford left every other thought behind as he took the tablet. “Thanks,” he said, a tiny breeze of loneliness caressing his cheek. Sadie felt his hands trembling and his heartbeat pushing against his ribs. He sat back, nestling into the couch cushions to keep his arms steady, and pushed PLAY.

  The screen filled with a picture of James watching TV. Sadie felt the effort it took Ford not to reach out and touch his face. Winter sunshine streamed in through the large plate-glass windows of the same room they were sitting in now, basking James in a golden glow. Eyes not leaving the television, James said, “Hey, sugarplum, come over here, look what
I found. It’s you, in a school play or something, a hundred years ago. You were quite the performer even then.”

  Sadie had seen photos of James, experienced him in both Ford’s subconscious and his memories, and she’d heard his voice on Ford’s voice mail message, but this was her first view of him as a fully realized person. He was handsome, but the word that came immediately to Sadie’s mind was fun. He had a mischievous, ready smile and looked like the guy who would be the life of any party.

  The camera stayed on James’s face, looking with concentration at the TV. There was the sound of a little boy saying, “If you prick me, I will blee—ouch, you cut me. You weren’t supposed to use a real dagger. You stabbed me. There’s blood.”

  A girl’s voice answered flippantly, “Something to remember me by when I’m gone.”

  The boy, sounding desperate now, “Don’t say that. You can’t leave me. I promise I’ll get you everything you want. Just say you’ll never leave.”

  A ripple of laughter from the girl. “Define everything.”

  Watching this, James guffawed, and Sadie felt Ford’s chest tighten. Hearing James’s laugh set up a tug-of-war inside of Ford, pulling between wanting to savor the joy of that sound and wanting to howl with missing him.

  James looked away from the television, right into the camera, and asked, “What is this, sugarbear? Wait, that kid is your brother.”

  “When we were little,” Plum’s voice affirmed from off screen.

  James leaned forward to stare at the TV. “He’s so small. No wonder.”

  “We were young,” Plum’s voice said, a little curt. Her hand appeared in the movie, outstretched for the remote. “Turn it off.”

  Grinning, James took the remote and shoved it down his pants. “Come and get it.”

  The camera moved closer to James. It stopped right in front of his face, recording up close as his expression went from amusement to surprise to desire, and he said in a husky voice, “Damn, woman, that’s not the remote.”

  “Funny,” Plum said, “I could have sworn—”

  Ford pushed PAUSE. “I don’t think I need the rest.” His mind became quiet and empty, a single thought drifting around it like a leaf being blown in a spring breeze: He looked so happy. He looked so happy with her.

  He moved his gaze to Plum, and Sadie felt him probing for some sign that she’d felt the same way about James as James had felt about her.

  Plum cleared her throat. “That was the last time I saw him,” she said. “I left for Paris that next day, and when I came back…” Her lip quivered. She got up. “Let’s have a little drinkie.” When Ford hesitated she said, “You wouldn’t make a girl drink by herself, would you?”

  He followed her toward the kitchen, his thoughts saying that he had to stay focused, he was there to get her to talk to the police. But beneath that, Sadie sensed the deep pit of loneliness, now lit with a tiny spark of cinnamony hope that here was someone he could miss James with.

  She’s going to hurt you, Sadie wanted to tell to him, though she realized she had no real basis for saying that. For a split second she wondered if she was jealous of Plum, but that would have been ridiculous. Ford was a subject of study to her. It was far more likely that she was reacting to the fact that Plum had shown herself to be nothing but self-serving. Even in the video with her brother they’d just heard, she’d treated his feelings cavalierly.

  Jealous. Absurd.

  He watched Plum mix vodka with lime juice, listening to the clear chime of the silver spoon against the chrome shaker. He said, “Why didn’t you come to the funeral?

  She sprinkled the top with powdered sugar. “Funerals aren’t really my thing. I didn’t go to my parents’ funeral. I’m not going to start now.” She took a sip from the shaker, made a face, and added more vodka. “Besides, like I said, I was on my way to Paris when it happened. I didn’t even know James was dead until I got back.”

  Good, Sadie thought. So Plum has nothing more to tell us, and we can go.

  But Ford’s mind began the process Sadie now identified as problem solving, picking up pieces and trying them in different places.

  “You didn’t want to come to the funeral,” he said. “And you said you didn’t want to talk to Serenity Services, even to tell them about James not using drugs.”

  “Because it has nothing to do with me,” Plum snapped. “Because I believe in minding my own business. And because James is dead, so it can’t make any difference to him. Don’t start on that again.”

  Ford put up a hand. “I’m not. I’m just wondering, since you’ve seemed to put James completely behind you”—he looked at her hard—”why did you want to meet me?”

  She cracked ice into two tall glasses and filled them from the shaker, apparently unconcerned. “I told you. I heard you were asking about me.”

  “From who? How did you get my number?”

  She pushed one of the glasses across the counter toward him. “It’s not that hard to come by, is it? Why won’t you let this drop?”

  Ford shook his head. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened to my brother.”

  Plum took a sip of her drink and came and stood very close to him, looking at him over the top of her glass. “You want to know what happened to James?”

  Her leg brushed his thigh. Ford’s pulse leapt forward, and Sadie heard the shimmer of a tambourine. “I do,” he said. “I want to know—”

  “A lot happened to James,” Plum answered. She gulped her drink and set it on the counter with an elegant chink of ice. “A lot of it right here.” She pushed Ford against the counter. “I told you I went to Paris, right? Did you know the real French kiss has nothing at all to do with two mouths?” She slid her hand to his crotch and moved her eyes to his lips.

  A xylophone clanged in Ford’s head and drums sounded like they’d been knocked over. She’s trying to distract you, Sadie warned him. Which means they were good questions. Stay focused. Don’t fall for it.

  Ford said, “No. I, uh, studied Spanish.”

  Plum tugged the end of his belt out of the buckle and had her finger on the top button of his waistband. She brought her face close enough so their mouths were almost touching. She smelled of vodka, lime, and perfume.

  Sadie felt Ford’s pulse jump, and his arousal tickled like tiny butterfly wings all over her body. Plum whispered, “Let me show you how it’s really done,” and slid her body down until she was on her knees in front of him.

  The sound of every instrument playing hard at once in Ford’s mind was almost deafening. You don’t want to do this, Sadie told him despite substantial evidence to the contrary.

  Plum lowered his zipper and ran a finger down the front of his boxers. All the instruments went on playing their loudest but now with the first hints of some kind of structure. You’re just feeling vulnerable, Sadie told him. You broke up with your girlfriend, and you like the attention, but—

  A thousand bombs of sensation exploded over Sadie’s body and the keyboards pounded as Plum slipped her hand into the slit in Ford’s boxers. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “You’re definitely not the little bro—”

  The sentence died on her lips, and she withdrew her hand. Casting a panicked look at the front door, she said, “You’ve got to go.”

  The band in Ford’s head stopped playing chaotically, each instrument cutting off mid-phrase. Ford’s thoughts felt dizzy and slow. “Why? What’s happening?”

  Sadie hadn’t heard anything over the clamor in Ford’s head, but the sound of knocking on the front door was clearly audible now.

  Plum pushed him toward her bedroom, detouring by the couch to grab his shoes. “You have to get out of here. Now.”

  He took the shoes and looked around, wondering if he’d left anything else. “How?”

  “Hide in the closet. I’ll create a distraction in the office. Wait thirty seconds from when you last hear voices and make for the back door in the kitchen. It goes to the service stairs, and you can take those all the way down
to the garage. Then you can avoid being seen by the doormen.”

  It sounded like a good idea to Sadie. But Ford’s vision dimmed as he listened to Plum, and his voice was harsh as he demanded, “Hide in the closet? Sneak out? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not doing this for me, I’m doing it for you,” Plum told him seriously.

  Sadie thought that was okay too, but Ford’s mind screamed, Liar!

  There was another knock on the front door. “Go,” Plum insisted, pointing to the closet. “Now.”

  He caught her wrist as she turned to leave, stopping her. “How did you get my number?”

  She tried to shake his hand off. “Not now.”

  He didn’t budge. “Just tell me. Where did you get it?”

  Her eyes slewed away from him, toward the bed. “I don’t remember, okay? Now get in there,” she urged and left, shutting the bedroom door with a click.

  Ford cocked his ears, listening for sounds from the other room. He heard Plum’s footsteps padding across the floor, the front door opening.

  Plum’s voice, perhaps slightly too loud, saying, “I wasn’t expecting you.” The sound of a kiss, the front door closing.

  Sadie watched Ford running through different possibilities in his head. Saunter out of the room and say “thanks” and leave. Saunter out and make the other guy leave. Hide in the closet.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get to the door. You woke me,” he heard Plum going on.

  Sadie tried to imagine what it would be like to be beholden to someone that way. To have to pretend to be happy to see them even if you weren’t, put whatever else you were doing aside just because they told you to.

  The sound of glasses shifting, murmurs, then Plum again, not as loud: “Oh, yes, I had company earlier, but they’re long gone.”

  Ford went and stood by the closet. It was big, bigger than his mother’s room, and full. There were plenty of things to hide behind, but if someone actually came in and looked, it wouldn’t take them long to find him.